


Look What You're Doin' To Me

by pantykinksam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Drunk Dancing, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantykinksam/pseuds/pantykinksam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam decides to lighten the mood with a bottle of booze and some drunk dancing on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look What You're Doin' To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 8:30 a.m. Christmas Eve (today) because I was really feeling the Christmas vibes. Please note that I've done no editing or grammar checks, as this is basically just a quick-write for the holidays.

Dean hears the floor creak before he sees Sam in the doorway, sleepy drunk and grinning wildly his way, lingering against the door frame of the library in the shadows. Dean fakes grogginess and turns away - tries not to think of an almost-naked Sam clad in his boxers and a robe with a bottle of booze sauntering over to his side. 

Sam’s hair falls from behind his ear and settles over Dean’s collarbone as Sam leans over to take a look at whatever the hell lore Dean was studying. What the fuck was he looking through, anyway? 

His hot breath against Dean’s ear made him shudder, working to stay concentrated, or at least to pretend to be. 

“Fuck, see, I had a good work ethic thing going, and your half-drunk ass comes along, and- Sam!”

Sam cuts him off mid-sentence, his head dipping into the collar of Dean’s Men of Letters bathrobe, mouthing at the exposed freckled skin of his right shoulder. 

“M’not drunk.” 

“Al-alright, you’re not drunk, just -”

Dean squirms from Sams’s touch, reaching over to skim through some loose papers, taking a swig from his beer, desperate to ignore Sam’s traveling hands. 

“Look, it’s late, and I’ve still got a shit ton of lore to look into regarding the Darkness. Why- Why don’t you meet me in your room in like, a couple hours?”

Sam snorts, swooping in from the left side to suck at Dean’s neck. Dean hisses, pulling away, but Sam’s already halfway across the library by then, sliding across the room in his socks and -

Oh _no_. 

Sam frowned, booze dangling from his fingers as he swarmed around the record player and shot Dean a cocky smirk. 

_No_.

“Sammy, I am _not_ -” 

He’s cut off by ‘Jingle Bells,’ and maybe Sam’s smile, if he’s honest with himself, cause _Jesus_ that smile can light up a room. 

With one swift kick, Sam whirled Dean around by the leg of his chair, leaving him stranded in the center of the room. 

Fuck.

A crackly old Christmas carol came whistling through the sound system, and Dean realized with a pang of guilt that it was Christmas Eve. He didn’t usually forget so easily, but with all this shit on Amara, he hasn’t had much time to think about little things like that. Then again, it wasn’t a ‘little thing’ to Sam. 

The two long purple tassels of Sam’s bathroom whirled around his feet like the mitters of car wash, and suddenly Dean couldn’t take his eyes away from the kid dancing in his boxers and - one sock? It’d been a little less than ten minutes and the kid already lost a sock. 

Dean kept his eyes on Sam, the light from the cheap purple plastic Christmas tree Sam begged Dean to pick up at a little Big Lots in a small town, because “C’mon, Dean. We haven’t had a tree in years!” reflecting off of Sam’s perfect figure, providing its own little light show.

Maybe it was the late working. Maybe it was the late drinking. Dean was pretty sure it was just Sam.

Dean’s entirely in love with Sam, and times like this, there’s nothing he can do to help it. 

Sam’s long legs bend and dip, his hands splayed across his bare chest, laughing and sloshing booze across the flooring at Dean’s feet, but they’ll clean it up later, because Sam’s _beautiful_ like this, the sun down for hours now, the only light in the dark the lamp from Dean’s previous study session and the cheap neon purple lights of the tree that danced in Sam’s eyes.

Dean groaned, tipping his head back. “Shit. What’re ya doin’ t’me, baby boy?”

Sam was quiet, eyes on Dean as he swirled around a banister, shaggy hair a mess of thick sweaty curls on his forehead, and fuck. Thirty - two years old and he looks seven again, driving Dean crazy with those bright eyes and tired dancing like he was begging to stay up for a couple more hours.

Sam reached for Dean’s hand, and he took it, but used it to pull Sam down into his lap, shadows dancing across Sam’s face, wide eyes blinking in shock. 

“Killin’ me here, beautiful boy.” 

Sam grinned, fingers trailing lightly along Dean’s slack jaw as he pulls him into a drunken sloppy kiss, cheeks flushed and a droopy smile on his face when he pulls away.

“S’Christmas Eve, Dean. C’mon, come dance.”

“Easy there, Sammy. I can’t dance for shit, you know that. Neither can you, by the way.” Dean smiles, and it’s the kind of blinding smile only for Sam - one hand stroking back Sam’s hair from his heated face and the other thumbing blindly at the soft skin of his hipbone.

Sam frowned, shoving Dean and feigning hurt, pushing away from Dean and dancing against his chair now, this time to the beat of ‘Blue Christmas.’ 

And it should be entirely ridiculous to see Sam swaying his hips to Elvis in their library at 2 a.m. by the light of a plastic purple tree on Christmas Eve, but Dean was way too in love to even bat an eye, really. 

“Alright, a’right, Sammy, enough, you got me, you can dance.” He groans, gripping Sam’s wrist and swirling him around to meet his lips, a smile playing against Sam’s.

“Yeah? F’you were really sorry, you’d dance with me.”

“Alright, alright, I’m dancing, baby boy, show me what you got.”


End file.
